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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111982">His Design</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Bleu/pseuds/Butterfly_Bleu'>Butterfly_Bleu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Dark Will Graham, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Porn With Plot, Will Graham is a Cannibal, Will is Hannibal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:02:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Bleu/pseuds/Butterfly_Bleu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You look at him for a moment but avert them immediately after your eyes meet. "I've also been told you deal with enormous amounts of empathy?" You laugh for a moment. "That's correct. It's more along the lines of having a vast imagination than a personality disorder." Jack's eyes widen. "Allow me to borrow your imagination?"<br/>...</p><p>Hannibal AU where the reader takes Will Graham's place and Will takes Hannibal's place.<br/>(Reader is written as gender-neutral.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Préfou</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sweat tumbles down your forehead in slow strands of droplets as you breathe in your routine, calming breaths. You know exactly what you are doing. You've done this countless times before. But some part of you is still nervous and unsure. Reaching deep inside the minds of the unstable is what you do; what you're known for. Though only you know its repercussions. As you inhale your last breath, your eyes close, and you take a step back out of your mind. After a few seconds, you violently reopen your eyes. </p><p>"I shoot Mr. Marlow twice in each leg. Leaving him utterly immobilized. He watches me from the ground as I stare into his dying eyes and make my way over to his sleeping wife. He will die watching me take away what is his. This is my design." As if it was some involuntary act, these words fall effortlessly out of your mouth. </p><p>"I carefully straddle Mrs. Marlow, who is fast asleep. She feels my presence sooner than I had hoped, causing me to strangle her to pure silence. I look over to Mr. Marlow, who is growing dim, and I proceed to make sure the last thing he sees is my knife tearing her flesh apart." You walk along the pathway of blood that was left from Mrs. Marlow's dead body being dragged out of bed and eventually out of the room. </p><p>"Scott!" One of your coworkers calls out to you. </p><p>"There's someone here to see you." </p><p>Hearing your last name be called out like that sends shivers down your spine. You'd think after working for the FBI as long as you have been, you'd be used to these social interactions, but your brain wasn't made to function in such a way. Unnecessary conversations are physically intolerable. You shake your head around, trying to detach yourself from any straggling thoughts leftover from when you put yourself in the killer's shoes. </p><p>"Who is it?" </p><p>Suddenly a familiar face enters your line of sight. It's Special Agent Jack Crawford, the head of the behavioral science unit. </p><p>"(Y/N) Scott? I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting." </p><p>He reaches out his hand to shake yours. </p><p>"We've met before." </p><p>You both pause for a moment, never returning his offering. Jack lowers his hand and cocks his eyebrow. </p><p>"Yes. Well. All formalities aside. I've heard many stories about you. People tell me you have a knack for getting into the minds of psychopaths. Making jumps to conclusions that no one else could."</p><p>"Yes. I guess you could say that. Though the evidence gave me all the facts, I need to jump to those conclusions." </p><p>You look at him for a moment but avert them immediately after your eyes meet. </p><p>"I've also been told you deal with enormous amounts of empathy?" </p><p>You laugh for a moment. </p><p>"That's correct. It's more along the lines of having a vast imagination than a personality disorder." </p><p>Jack's eyes widen. </p><p>"Allow me to borrow your imagination?"</p><p>. . .</p><p>Agreeing to assist Jack on the Minnesota Shrike case wasn't the best idea you ever had. The guilt that lingers from within your heart drives you for the most part in situations like these. Luckily, Jack Crawford, in wanting to take some precautions, sent you to some psychiatrist that Alana, another psychiatrist, recommended. </p><p>His name is Will Graham. </p><p>You never knew of his existence until Jack pitched an idea that you'd be forced to agree with. It entailed something along the lines of how you have to be consistently watched and approved to be mentally sane so that Jack's conscience and reputation stay safe. </p><p>Now, you find yourself sitting tiredly in Jack's office. On edge from the current casework.</p><p>Jack is still. Standing quietly in front of the evidence board. His eyes linger over the pictures of the dead, brunette girls and their mutilated bodies. The dead silence comforts and frightens you at the same time. But all that comes to an end once the door to the office opens abruptly. </p><p>The dramatic sound gripped and ripped your head towards its direction. Inside the doorway stands unfamiliarity. </p><p>"Will!" Jack turns around. </p><p>"Nice to see you again."</p><p>He saunters on over to Will, signaling his further intrusion into your space. You make sure to strictly stare ahead, but in the corner of your eyes, you make out some of his distinctive features. His chocolate, shaggy hair has been elegantly styled back, facial hair groomed, and an almost black suit that pulls his look together. </p><p>"And I as well, Jack." You look up to him for a moment. </p><p>Hearing his voice took you by surprise, and your curiosity pushed you to look up and see. </p><p>"Will Graham, this is (Y/N) Scott. A special agent here assisting with the Minnesota Shrike case." </p><p>Dr. Graham shifts his eyes you over you as if you were a dead body being examined. You can sense his intense gaze pulsating over you. With your mouth frozen shut, you creak your neck up towards him. </p><p>"It's a pleasure." </p><p>His honey-scented voice fills the room. With his body looming over you, expecting you to respond, you begin to open your mouth but are interrupted.</p><p>"Is my being here an inconvenience to you? You seem uneased."</p><p>"I have no important association with you. There's no reason for an inconvenience to occur. It just so happens that I don't particularly like psychiatrists. Especially when they're here for me." You glare at Jack, who now has taken his seat behind his desk. </p><p>"Dr. Graham isn't only here for you. I've asked him to help me with a psychological profile." Your eyebrow arches. "And you don't believe I'm just as capable?"</p><p>"(Y/N), I'm sure Jack believes you could do the job, and I'm sure you already have. The reason I am here is so that I can bring forth a different perspective." Will says as he sits down next to you in front of Jack. </p><p>"I can sense your so-called different perspective, and it isn't anything I haven't already concluded." </p><p>No one speaks for a moment. </p><p>"Jack does always have a plan for things of this sort, so I'll give in to his wishes for now. Though I'll be biting my tongue during our forced interactions." You make sure to say the last sentence through closed teeth. </p><p>"Hopefully, I'll learn to open you up. Having a friend to talk with is always beneficial." </p><p>Hearing Dr. Graham use the word friend to compare your relationship (or lack thereof) made your face instantly sour. </p><p>"I don't intend for us to become anything more than doctor and patient. At most colleagues." </p><p>Will's eyes narrow and once again find yours. </p><p>"We'll just have to see then, won't we?"</p><p>. . .</p><p>You were never fond of leather fabric, especially now as you fidget nervously on a couch made of some. Dr. Graham has a peculiar taste, and you've made certain mental notes of his character. Profiling people is your job of sorts, and from what you can tell, Dr. Graham's is ideal. A caring psychiatrist who is serious about his job and personal life, though the pit in your stomach tells you to be on your guard.</p><p>All these unnecessary thoughts glide their way throughout your mind as you await your first appointment with him. You even take to staring at the elegant wallpaper that you're sure Will picked out himself, thinking, this must be a sum of his entire personality. </p><p>Dr. Graham must be one of those rich types who come from old money and thrive off of his God complex, which explains why he saves people (in one way or another) for a living. Though the way Jack praises him and his abilities make you question yourself entirely. 

</p><p>Maybe you have this odd resentment for him at the moment, due to the uneasy fact that Will Graham is only here because Jack thinks you're going to lose your shit on the job. Which would mean you don't actually have the grasp on your mind that you think you do, making you crazy, neglecting how you've trained yourself not to be. </p><p>Suddenly, out of nowhere, you hear a voice boom from the other room beside you. Muffled, but you can still clearly make out the words. </p><p>"I'm sorry, but what?!" </p><p>Your ears perk up to the sound of a brewing argument. </p><p>"You obviously have no idea what I'm talking about then, because if you did, you'd understand." </p><p>And over the course of minutes, the door to the left of you flies open, rage seeping out of the wood. You glance up to see Dr. Graham, holding the door open with one elongated arm, and a short stubby man beside him, trying to storm his way out. </p><p>"See you next week Franklin." </p><p>Will breaths through a grin as the man you assume to be Franklin quickly leaves Will's office. </p><p>"Good evening (Y/N)," he says as his whole demeanor shifts from one of slight annoyance to that of calm and collected. </p><p>"I'd prefer it if you'd call me Agent Scott." You grimace at the sound of your name for a moment. </p><p>It's already unusual when people approach you by your last name, but hearing your first name roll off of Will's tongue like that sent you to another realm for a moment. And you didn't want to go back. </p><p>"Why is that? Our soon to be constructive relationship will consist of intimacy. Names hold a lot of intimacy. How should I expect you to share anything with me if you close off even your name?" </p><p>You stand slowly and move your body towards the door leading to Will's session room. He is still there, holding the door open, welcoming you to the gates of hell.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gougères</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What is that?" you ask curiously.</p><p>Will throws down some loose papers on the glass coffee table beside him.</p><p>"Your psychological evaluation. It seems to me you're more or less sane and completely functional. Great job." His comment gives you a smirk.</p><p>"Is the overload of paperwork too much to ask of you, Dr. Graham?" Will shifts to cross his legs as he leans deeper into his leather seat.</p><p>"I view it as unnecessary for our situation. It now leaves us more time to talk as friends rather than patient and doctor."</p><p>Your first session with Dr. Graham has gone completely off the path from what you've predicted. His complete negligence towards proper protocol is amusing. Yet, he is pushing the thought of a potential friendship, which comes as no surprise.</p><p>For a moment, you are quiet. Therapy was never kind to you, though you've been in and out of therapy many times, too many for your liking. In the end, you were always left exactly where you started, unchanged, and even more skeptical than before. How could Jack possibly think these mandatory sessions with Will Graham are going to make a difference now?</p><p>"Jack has informed me that your current case might become a little more than a problem for you in the future. It seems it might already have." A snicker escapes your lips. </p><p>The Minnesota Shrike case still heavily influences what runs through your mind. The case in its entirety is no doubt why Jack sent you here in the first place. Of course, you'd expect such a reaction when you accidentally contaminated your recent crime scene.</p><p>"During one of your 'swapping of viewpoints', you got some of the victim's blood all across your body, is that correct?" Will asks in a curious tone.</p><p>"Yes, though I know I was in control at the time. I only lost myself for a moment and ended up on top of the body." Your eyes pan to the Victorian carpet below your feet.</p><p>"We all are prone to lose ourselves from time to time. Considering the places you are forced to explore, you detach from yourself to empathize with killers. It is no surprise that your mind thought what you were imagining was real."</p><p>"I'm not the killer, but that's where I was. In my mind. I pictured myself on top of that poor girl... carving her scalp off with my own bare hands... stealing her organs for my pleasure..."</p><p>"Then you heard Jack call out to you, only to awaken to the sight of you trying to recreate those actions."<br/>
Will sighs.</p><p>"Allow yourself to use me as your escape from those dark places. Do not think of me as your psychiatrist, but as a guide from the dangerous places that working for the FBI brings you to."</p><p>Then for the first time, you look at Dr. Graham. Deep into his ocean-like eyes. He smiles, stands, and walks over to your chair.</p><p>"I know who I am, and I know what I'm capable of. But sometimes, I do not recognize the face that I see within the mirrors of my mind." You swivel your head around to face Will.</p><p>"Wow," You chuckle, "did that really come out of me? My apologies, doctor. I know this is therapy and all, but-". Will cuts you off.</p><p>"This is whatever you need it to be." He places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.</p><p>"And (Y/N), the mirrors in your mind can only reflect the best of yourself. Never the worst of someone else."</p><p>. . .</p><p>Something is not right. This body laid out before you- a man in his mid-thirties, dark hair, blue eyes- seems to be permanently screaming at you. His jaw is cut open, appearing as if he actually is. He's screamed at you one too many times, and now you've made it clear that he will never spit out a sound again.</p><p>You close your eyes, readying yourself. Then, open.</p><p>"I walk through his front door. He was expecting me. Dinner. He has cooked for the two of us tonight. Anticipating. Full of hope. And right as we go to eat the steak, I throw the knife from my hand right into his chest." You walk around the maze-like dining room; rotten food still sits on their plates, chairs knocked over, and the body lays across the seat at the head of the table.</p><p>"Shocked by the turn of events, he grasps his chest, trying to tear out the silverware, but it's too late. By the time he begins to remove the knife, I start carving his face with my blade. I've played your game for too long. Now it's your turn to feel my pain. This is my design."</p><p>Beverly Katz, one of your co-workers, approaches you from behind, forcefully bringing you out of your 'state'.</p><p>"Our John Doe here appears to have been cut up more than a paper snowflake." She says in playful horror.</p><p>"Several wounds on his cheeks, causing his jaw drop like that. Multiple gashes around his abdomen and torso," Brian, another detective on the case, states, "obvious death from blood loss."</p><p>"And no fingerprints to be found. Other than our Vic's. Did this killer eat with gloves on or something?" inquires Jimmy, Brian's partner.</p><p>Jack appears beside you, checking you over every once in a while. "What do you think, Agent Scott?"</p><p>You force your eyes to tear away from the body. "It's not the work of the Minnesota Shrike, that I know for sure."</p><p>"The MO is too different. Brunette, yes, but not a girl." </p><p>Jack ponders for a moment, then turns to you and asks, "who do you think did this then?"</p><p>"Someone who's looking for revenge. The hate is so strong I can smell it. It's practically radiating off of the victim's body." You walk up closer, taking careful steps. </p><p>"Our suspect feels hurt. The victim never said what they wanted to hear."</p><p>"Jealous wife, maybe? Jimmy, do we know our victim's ID yet?"</p><p>Jimmy's carefully recording fingerprints off of the hands of our victim. He plugs them into some device and finds a match within his database. "His name is Ryan Jones. Don't have a lot of information on him right now, but once we get back to the lab, I can provide more."</p><p>Jack drags his fingernails over his chin stubble. "Good."</p><p>You interrupt his thought, "No. A riled-up wife wouldn't have done this. Ryan most likely never had a wife to begin with."</p><p>"Girlfriend?" Jack joins in.</p><p>"No. This is the act of jealousy and unrequited love. Our suspect was in love. Not with Ryan but someone who looks almost like him. Similar to how the Minnesota Shrike operates, but this is someone who they can not have. Ryan represents someone who has denied our Unsub."</p><p>"The jealousy towards an unrequited love," Jack says as he removes his fingers from his face. </p><p>"Do you suspect they'll do this again?"</p><p>"Of course. And they'll keep doing it until their love is returned."</p><p>Jack tenses up for a moment. </p><p>"We'll worry about this jackass after we've caught the Minnesota Shrike. Everyone get back to the lab, take care of the evidence, and meet me back in my office. We need to take care of this soon."</p><p>. . .</p><p>There you all are, huddled around Jack's desk as if he was the only fire to keep you warm during a blizzard. A new, familiar face was in the room as well. Alana Bloom. You've seen her around before, but never by yourself, always with other people. And of course, as if you manifested it out of sheer want for it not to happen, Will Graham was there.</p><p>"Alright, everyone. Thanks to Beverly here for finding our plane ride out to catching the Minnesota Shrike," Jack holds up a small evidence bag containing what appears to be scraps of metal.</p><p>"And Alana, who so graciously volunteered to investigate the location for any leads, when I asked her to," Alana smiles around the room. </p><p>"We have a suspect. Garrett Jacob Hobbs," Jack says proudly. </p><p>"(Y/N), I'm sending you out to his address, accompanied by Will Graham here to investigate the lead." Jack extends his arm, carrying a manila folder possessing an address inside. </p><p>"This is our guy. I can feel it."</p><p>The two of you leave as quickly as possible. Deep down, you know that time is running out for whoever Garrett Jacob Hobb's golden ticket is.</p><p>You rush into Will's car and drive out to the house stated in the file. The drive is quick and smooth. Every once in a while, Will looks over to you in the passenger seat, but neither of you says anything.</p><p>Finally, you pull up to the house. Both of you get out of the car and approach the front door. As if by instinct, you run up and start banging on the door.</p><p>"Garrett Jacob Hobbs, this is the FBI. Open the door," you demand through the wooden doors blocking your entrance. </p><p>In anticipation, you ready your gun, look over to Will, signal your incoming actions, and kick open the door violently.</p><p>The sweat cultivating from your palms forces you to grip on your gun even tighter. As you make your way around the house, looking for any signs of life, you feel Will's presence lurk behind you.</p><p>"Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" You yell, your voice echoing off the walls for a moment.</p><p>Then a scream follows.</p><p>"AAAAHHH!!"</p><p>Without hesitation, you make a sprint towards the helpless shriek that sounded like a young girl. You find yourself running towards what you assume to be the kitchen. </p><p>"Garrett Jacob Hobbs, freeze!" You yell as you raise your gun right in his direction.</p><p>The situation you have just thrown yourself in is a sight to analyze. Garrett Jacob Hobbs stands in front of you, holding his wife around his arms with a kitchen knife fleshed up against her neck. A girl stands in the other corner, as far away as she can be from the scene, his daughter most likely. And you. Standing in the way of his plans. Garret Jacob Hobbs looks you in the eyes and smiles.</p><p>Suddenly, time seems to flash by in seconds. Over those seconds, Garret Jacob Hobbs slices his wife's throat straight open and lunges at his daughter to do the same. Before you know it, you send ten bullets into him, making his body drop like a rag doll right in front of the girl.</p><p>You fall straight to your knees. Tears and blood cover your face as your body breaks into convulsions. </p><p>Then, as if he was your guardian angel, Will meets you down on the floor. His long arms wrap around your shaking body, and he whispers into your ear. </p><p>"It's alright."</p><p>"You are alright. See?"</p><p>"You saved her. See?" Will lifts your face to stare at the shocked and terrified girl who's snot stained face contorts at the sight of her dead parents.</p><p>Will's grasp on you tightens.</p><p>"See?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading the first little chapter of this work in progress of mine. Let me know what you think or what you would like to see!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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